The Last Slave
by Radont
Summary: The Ghosts are members of the Imperial Legion, when one of them puts on strange armor it's up to the other three to find him and, if possible, help him.
1. The Ghosts

**The Last Slave – Part I**

It was an unusually cold night for this time of year. The two wood elf guards stationed outside the iron gate complained to themselves as they kept their night eye gaze on the tree line 100 meters in front of them. They were guarding a slave traders base of operations in a clearing deep in a thick green forest. The two cold guards, wrapped tightly in wolf skins with bows in hand and full quivers on their back, had only been hired a week prior to this night, but this particular slave base had been in operation for over a year. In that year the only people that had come to the base were people already cleared by the boss, and so the guards questioned the need to be standing in the cold, quiet night watching the trees sway lazily in a chilly night breeze. They stayed there though, because that's what the boss wanted and he was the one paying them for their services and a mercenary's only loyalty is to money.

There were rumors spreading through the slave underground of Imperial soldiers attacking slave posts and shutting them down. One such rumor was about a group of four Imperial soldiers known as "the ghosts" in the slave underworld because of the way they used surprise attacks to end a slave traders profession and then disappear into the night. It was only a rumor though, nothing more.

The rumor had one part right, there were four soldiers that made up "the ghosts", but not all of were of Imperial descent. There were 2 Imperials in the group; the other two members consisted of a Nord and a Bosmer also known as a Wood Elf. The ghosts were just outside the view of the bosmer guards, waiting, and watching for the perfect time to strike.

It had been a good day for Hirdire, the pale skinned, tall and strong Nordic slave trader. He had had a wealthy Breton client buy a pair of Argonian slaves and he managed to convince him that he wouldn't be able to get by without purchasing two nords as well. His conscience didn't care about selling the lizard-like Argonians; to him they weren't worthy to be citizens of Tamriel. The Nords, however, were different, they were his own people and he always felt a twinge of guilt whenselling them into slavery. Whatever guilt he felt evaporated like steam from a cooking pot as soon as he saw the money. One strong Nordic male would fetch him 3000 septims. A female would go for 2000, but if he sold them as a pair he could easily ask 8000 or more. And that's what he did, he managed to sell the two Nords for 10,000 and the Argonians went for 1500 each.

"These are the strongest Argonians you're likely to find," he said, lying. To a Slave Trader, every Argonian is the strongest the buyer is likely to find. And so Hirdire and his two slave trading partners, Bjorin and Shadr, both Nords equally as strong as Hirdire, counted out their gold as they exchanged loud banter about the day.

Nords are known for their strength, had Halldin not joined the Imperial Legion, he could have easily been a guard for the most fearsome arena fighters. Not that they needed guards, but Halldin's size and stature would make the bravest warriors cower in fear and make the arena champion's most powerful enemies think twice about crossing them. The Nord, leader of The Ghosts and master of any two handed blade, was crouched behind a boulder, occasionally peering around it to note any changes to the setup of the guards. He could only see two of them, if this was a typical slave trading setup the rest of the guards-for-hire would be inside the gate keeping watch over the traders hut and the slave cages. Halldin ducked back behind the boulder and glanced over to his left. 10 feet away, crouched behind a boulder the same size as the one just big enough to cover his massive frame, was Arronax and Radont. Both wore hardened leather armor with no helms and both gripped silver colored bucklers in their gauntlet glad left hands. It wasn't the normal equipment carried by members of the imperial legion, but these were no ordinary Imperials. To Halldin's right was Renwick, a wood elf marksman with his bow in hand and an arrow notched ready to deliver a lethal iron tipped message on Halldin's command.

Halldin nodded and Renwick let loose his first arrow, before it reached the guard 100 meters away he grabbed another arrow out of his quiver, notched it, and started the second guards journey to Oblivion. The first arrow struck the guard between the eyes with enough force to knock him over backwards. The second guards first feeling was surprise, had he had time to have another feeling it would have been fear; there was a very skilled marksman out there and he had no idea where he was hiding. Instead, the only thing he felt was an arrow piercing his left eye and finding it's final resting place in the middle of his brain. The guard collapsed in an awkward heap and Renwick gave Halldin a thumbs-up signifying that the guards posted outside were taken care of. Halldin leapt from his hiding place and sprinted towards the unguarded gate. Arronax and Radont followed him closely; they both unsheathed their swords and prepared for the inevitable skirmish that awaited them on the other side of the solid iron gate.

Grog-grabul, the orc warrior in charge of the mercenaries, didn't enjoy being woken up every time someone heard something on the other side of the iron wall. He was the only one that could unlock the gate though, other then the traders themselves, and no one dared disturb them while they counted their money. Grog-grabul pulled himself out of his warm bed, picked up his longsword, and sleepily walked to the gate and unlocked it with the three other mercenaries in tow.

He was greeted by a left hook from the largest Nord he had ever seen, the blow knocked him unconscious and spun him around as he crashed face first onto the ground. The three remaining mercenaries jumped back and procured their iron swords from the leather sheaths strapped to their side. All three were Redguards, their dark brown skin matched the leather armor they were wearing. They were used to being mercenaries but they were not used to fighting as a group, and it showed. As Arronax and Radont came up on either side of Halldin, shields raised and swords ready to attack, the mercenaries moved back and away from each other. Halldin, Radont, and Arronax all charged at the same time, yelling as they did so. Radont reached his target first and swung his sword from over his head, using his momentum to power his swing. The mercenary side stepped and Radont rolled forward, avoiding the counter attack from his opponent. He jumped up and raised his shield to block the overhead swing coming from the surprisingly quick mercenary. He used the block to his advantage by pushing the Redguard's arm up and away as he stepped in and put his sword straight through the heart of the enemy. Radont pulled his sword from the chest of the mercenary and looked up to see if his companions needed help. They were both looking back at him wondering the same thing. The mercenary that Halldin engaged was missing his head, and Arronax's unfortunate sparring partner had his face bashed in by the Imperial soldier's shield.

Grog-grabul woke up and wondered why he was outside in the cold night instead of in his warm, fire-heated hut. He rolled onto his back and the pain spreading through his head reminded him how he came to be lying on the ground. The nord that put him there walked over and put his foot on his chest and the tip of his blood stained sword was at his throat.

"Run, orc" Halldin said with ice in his voice. "Tell all the slave traders you find that the Emperor will not tolerate slavery and if they do not cease immediately their fate will be the same as the people you see scattered around you".

Grog-grabul didn't need to hear any more, as soon as Halldin sheathed his sword and stepped back the orc stood up dizzily and half-ran half-stumbled out of the fort and into the woods.

Halldin was as fierce a fighter that the Imperial Legion had, but he wasn't a murderer and he would not kill needlessly. It didn't matter if he was fighting orcs, redguards or high-elves, if they were no longer a threat to him, his soldiers, or his mission then they were no longer his enemy and they deserved to live. He wouldn't always let them go free, most wound up in an Imperial prison, but to kill someone no longer a threat to him was just plain cold blooded murder and he would not have that on his conscience the rest of his life.

Hirdire, Bjorin, and Shadr heard the fighting going on outside and walked to the window to see what mercenary had offended another mercenary this time. What they saw scared them, Grog-grabul, who had a reputation of being one of the most ruthless mercenaries in all of Tamriel, was lying face down on the soft grass. The other mercenaries were either dead or in the process of becoming that way. The slave traders could only assume, then, that the wood-elf guards stationed outside had suffered the same fate. Bjorin moved quickly to the door and locked it, not that a locked wooden door would stand a chance against armed imperial soldiers, but he felt a little more secure hearing the click of the lock regardless.

Hirdire and Bjorin cowered unarmed in a corner opposite the door while Shadr crouched under the only window in the plain looking room. The only furniture in the room was the table where they counted their gold and that wouldn't make a very good hiding place. They heard the doorknob turn as the soldiers tried to enter, and then with a solid kick the door flew off it's hinges and crashed into the wall next to the frightened nords. The three soldiers ran through the new opening and surveyed the room. They immediately noticed the two nords cowering in the corner and to their left was Shadr, now standing with his back to the window.

With no immediate threat in sight, Halldin sheathed his sword and spoke forcefully to the three slave traders: "You are under arrest by order of the Emperor for the buying and selling of slaves, all of your possessions now belong to the Empire, your slaves will be set free, and you will hand over your ledger." As he spoke Shadr casually put his hands behind his back and slowly pulled a dagger out from under his shirt. Arronax noticed the suspicious movement and turned to walk towards him with his hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword. As he took his first step the glass window that Shadr was standing in front of shattered and he jumped as if an unseen animal had bitten him. Halldin drew his sword as he spun to face Shadr. The dagger slipped out of the shocked nord's hand as he staggered and fell forward crashing onto the wooden floor. In his back was an arrow and three seconds later Renwick entered the room with bow in hand.

"I came in through the gate to see if I could help, I saw this guy take out a dagger" he said as he nudged Shadr's body with his foot, "I had a shot so I took it".

"Good work, Renwick" Halldin said as he sheathed his sword and turned to face Hirdire again.

"Where are your slave keys?"

Hirdire reached into his pocket and procured a key ring with two keys hanging from it. This he handed to Halldin who gave it to Radont.

"Go release the slaves and get them ready to move out."

Halldin walked over to the table and opened a book that was near the edge. "This is your ledger, correct?"

Hirdire nodded. Halldin flipped through some pages, each page had 20 entries on it and each entry included a date, the name of the slave that was sold, the name of the buyer, and how much each slave was sold for. Halldin closed the book and picked it up, "Time to go". Renwick and Arronax exited; as Bjorin was standing up he asked, "Where will we be processed?"

"Ebonheart" Halldin said as he extinguished the candles.

Ebonheart: Imperial stronghold and busy seaport on the Island of Vvardenfell in the province of Morrowind. The entire city was constructed of gray, thick stone. From the imperial fort to the docks that stuck out into the water like two fingers extending from a hand, visitors were hard pressed to find any kind of wild growing vegetation in the city. A large black marble statue of a giant sea serpent greeted "the ghosts", the newly freed slaves, and the former slave traders as they stepped off their boat and onto the solid stone docks. The entourage made its way north through the city heading towards Fort Hawkmoth, once they arrived the slaves were processed and given citizenship and the slave traders were locked in individual cells to await trial and eventual execution.

"Congratulations on another successful raid, Halldin", said Casius, the highest ranking Imperial on Vvardenfell. He was an older Imperial with graying hair that almost matched the bricks used to build the fort he was in charge of. He wore the standard blue and gold armor of the Knight of the Imperial Dragon and always kept guards nearby with a rank no lower than Knight Bachelor. He was important and he knew it, and Halldin was disgusted by it. It was a little overkill to have a pair of Knight Bachelors following him around in one of the most secure forts in all of Tamriel. If anyone was able to get close enough to make an attempt at an assassination then the two guards might as well be paper shields. Halldin knew there was a better chance of surviving an attack by a group of werewolves than trying to take the life of the Knight of the Imperial Dragon, but Halldin had to respect the rank.

"Yes, sir" he said, giving the minimal amount of respect he could get away with.

"I didn't accomplish the mission alone, though. Congratulations are in order for Arronax, Renwick, and Radont as well".

"Ah yes, of coarse, of coarse, what a fine raid it was for the four of you" he said hastily, "did you manage to get the log book?"

Halldin handed him the leather bound book.

"Good, you are to report to Fort Monmooth at once, repair your armor and weapons there then take 2 days leave."

Casius turned and walked away before Halldin had a chance to respond.

From Ebonheart they took a short trip north to the city of Vivec and from there they rode a silt strider to the city of Balmora. The city was nestled in a valley with a large mountain range to the west and hills to the east. Down the center of city flowed the Odai River, lazily making its way south and then turning west towards the sea. Balmora was guarded on the north and south sides by high walls with a single entrance in each wall. On the east side of the city was the main residential area where the middle class citizens lived. Three bridges connected the east and west side over the small river. The west side housed the mages, fighters, and thieves guilds as well as various shops for traders, booksellers, blacksmiths, and a tavern.

Upon arriving the ghosts could hear the sounds of a busy city: a blacksmith banging out his latest sword or piece of armor, shoppers bartering with merchants, and various citizens chatting about the latest news. The four soldiers would be there soon enough, right now they had a short walk east over the hills to Fort Monmmoth.

The four of them went straight to the blacksmith upon arriving to get their armor and weapons repaired and battle ready. They could fix it themselves if they were on a mission, but the Imperial blacksmith would be able to take his time and do a more complete job of it over the next couple days. Next they went to the barracks to change into their common clothes then met outside the fort and walked back to Balmora.

"You don't really like Casius do you?" Radont asked Halldin over a pint of ale at their favorite tavern.

This surprised the big Nord; Radont wasn't usually one to talk much. He would rather have his Imperial steel long sword do the talking for him, although he preferred a Katana to the blade he was issued. His father had been in the Imperial Legion and insisted that Radont learn how to wield a blade at a young age, and so he was the most deadly of the ghosts when he had a two-handed Katana to do his talking.

"No, not really" was Halldins reply.

"His father is rich and owns a couple ebony mines and since the Empire needs ebony, well, Casius used his dad's influence to move up the ranks unchecked, and unchallenged. Lets hope we don't fight any wars soon."

Just then Nalik, an Imperial archeologist, stepped through the door and scanned the dimly lit room. He spotted Halldin sitting with the other three soldiers and hastily weaved his way through the crowd to the table.

"Halldin, I thought I might find you here" he said as he pulled up a chair.

"What did you dig up this time?" he asked, looking up from his drink. He could always tell when Nalik had found something, the archeologist would become fidgety and talk with his hands.

"My team and I found a complete set of Dwemer armor buried deep in a cave in the Bitter Coast region" he said, pointing west. "It's enchanted, but we don't know what benefits it will give the wearer, would you mind putting it on and swinging a sword around a bit?"

"I'd be happy to help, where is the armor now?" He asked, genuinely intrigued.

"I put it in our new training building here in Balmora, it's right along the river on the east side of town."

Halldin got up to leave and Arronax spoke up "I'll go with you, I could use some training against an enchanted opponent".

The armor was unremarkable, just a dull gold color that pulsed with magical energy. Halldin started putting it on while Arronax donned a full suit of iron armor, complete with a closed face helm.

Halldin slid on the helm to complete the enchanted set and immediately went to his knees. He screamed and grabbed his head as he fell forward. Arronax walked toward him "Halldin?" he said with wonder and concern in his voice. "What…"

Before he could finish his sentence Halldin jumped up and grabbed him by the neck, lifting him a foot off the ground. Arronax struggled but it was no use, Halldin's grip was too strong. He took out his dagger and tried to stab Halldin in the arm but the blade shattered against the armor. Halldin laughed, then spoke with a deep voice that seemed to come from the very pits of Oblivion: "FOOL! Your weapon cannot hurt Ballgore…!"

With that he threw Arronax through the solid stone wall and out onto the street. Arronax stood up dizzily and saw what once was the leader of the ghosts, and his best friend, levitating away over the mountains. As a crowd started to gather, Arronax collapsed to the ground as his surroundings faded into darkness.


	2. Wolfslayer

Arronax opened his eyes and was greeted by darkness. He felt a soft bed beneath him and a warm blanket covering him, there were no candles lit and he had a hard time focusing on anything but the wood and stone ceiling barely visible above him. He resolved to just let his eyes explore the darkness before finally settling on slightly flickering light streaming in through an open door. Silhouetted in the doorway was a woman figure with long curly hair and a small but athletic frame. Walking into the room, she lit a candle next to the bed bathing the room in soft light.

Arronax recognized her, it was Wenxue, the attractive Redguard healer of the Imperial Legion, and that meant that he was back in Fort Monmooth. Wenxue had fiery red hair that hung past her shoulders to the middle of her back and copper skin a lighter shade than most Redguards due to the Breton heritage from her father. She held a light blue pear shaped glass bottle in her hand. Uncorking the bottle with a pop, she held it to Arronax's lips.

"Drink this, it's a healing potion to get rid of any lingering ill effects," she said, tipping it into his mouth. He had no choice but to gulp it down as fast as she poured it. He felt a warm soothing sensation crawl over him, starting in his stomach and working its way to his hands and feet. His eyes focused and he realized for the first time since waking that he wasn't wearing his armor, or a shirt. Then the memories hit him, the Dwemer armor, Halldin, crashing through a wall, trying to stand, then blacking out.

Wenxue saw the confused look in his eyes and lightly touched his arm. "You've been asleep for over 12 hours," she said softly "Renwick and Radont were on their way to check out the armor for themselves when they saw the gathering crowd. You were unconscious so they brought you here. I cast healing spells on you then all we could do was wait. Nalik wanted to talk to you as soon as you were awake, are you up for it?" She asked genuinely concerned.

"I guess so," was the half-hearted reply.

Gently squeezing his arm, Wenxue turned and walked out the door. Arronax heard a muffled conversation outside and a minute later Nalik walked in. He pulled up a wooden chair next to Arronax and sat in silence thinking about the best way to phrase the question before deciding to just come out with it.

"What happened?" he ventured.

Shifting uneasily in the bed, Arronax spoke quietly. "He put the helm on and hit the floor screaming, holding his head. Then he just jumped up grabbed me and threw me through a solid brick wall".

Nalik was confused "He didn't say anything?"

Arronax dropped his gaze to where his feet were under the blanket; inhaling deeply and slowly letting it out he replied, "Ballgore, he said his name was Ballgore".

Nalik's shoulders slumped as if a heavy weight had just been hung on them and a long sigh escaped his lips.

"Then you know what needs to be done and what lies ahead".

Arronax nodded. The thought that he may have to kill his best friend sickened him. _No, _he thought, _he is alive and I will help him come back._ He couldn't give this burden to anyone else, it was his bloodline that defended Vvardenfell and he was the only one that could wield Stradyn, the blade he was cursed to carry anytime evil reared its grotesque head. The sword was strange in the fact that once the evil was destroyed it would vanish and reappear when needed, usually in the possession of a powerful being in order to test whoever might seek to claim it. Arronax was hoping he would never have to pick up the blade; he did not relish the thought of being the one person to save all of Vvardenfell.

"Do you know where Stradyn is?" He asked Nalik; if anyone knew where the sword was it would be the old archeologist.

"Two days ago Imperial mages detected a powerful enchantment coming from Crul, that would be the first place I'd look."

Crul was an abandoned city on a small island north of Vvardenfell in the Sea of Ghosts, anyone that dared go to the decaying city either came back mad, babbling incoherently about some kind of undead sorcery, or they never returned at all.

Arronax smiled weakly, "I thought maybe the curse wasn't real, that maybe it was a story made up by some old man wanting to feel better about an empty life. I am no leader, I'm just a soldier doing what I'm told."

Nalik tried his best to improve the disheartened soldiers morale, "You're not going alone, Radont and Renwick would follow you to the very heart of Red Mountain, and they will look to you for leadership now."

Shrugging, Arronax replied, "I'd rather they didn't, there is much to do, I should be getting ready." Tossing the blanket aside, he slid out of bed moving his arms and legs around to make sure everything worked. Picking his shirt up from the floor he pulled it over his head and walked through the door. Radont and Renwick were waiting for him and stood when he entered the room.

"How are you feeling, boss?" Renwick asked.

Arronax didn't like the idea of being called 'boss' but let it go for the time being. "I've felt better," was his reply. "Have you slept yet?"

Renwick shook his head, "Not a wink, Radont and I stayed awake waiting for new orders from you, being the new leader of the Ghosts and all." He said with a proud smile. Radont nodded agreement.

"Look, right now I'm not the leader of the Ghosts, we are all equal, no one better than the other." His unflinching face meant he was serious.

Renwick raised his eyebrows in surprise; he figured Arronax would enjoy the chance to lead the Ghosts into battle. _Probably just some after effects of what happened_ he said to himself, _he'll lead us eventually_. "OK… what do we do now?"

Shrugging, Arronax replied with indifference, "You can do whatever you want, I am going to find Stradyn and Halldin."

"Who is Stradyn?" Renwick asked quickly.

Arronax gave him the quick version, "Stradyn is a sword I have to find in order to help Halldin."

Radont finally spoke up, "We're going with you, leader or not." He said, crossing his arms. Renwick mimicked Radont's posture and waited for the reply from the Imperial.

"I had a feeling you'd say that, get some rest you'll need it

Renwick and Radont made their way to the barracks and quickly fell into a deep peaceful sleep. Having already slept for the last 12 hours, Arronax decided to look over some maps of Vvardenfell to see what would be the best route to take on their journey. After 15 minutes of staring at a map and letting his mind wander he decided to just go to Balmora and have a look around.

The morning sun was just peeking over the horizon, scattering its warming rays over the land, when he entered the city. It was always busy here because of the Great Houses and the mage and fighters guilds. Arronax wanted something that would take his mind of the events of the past day and he found it in the booksellers building. He entered and waved to the well-dressed orcish merchant standing behind a wooden counter. Arronax enjoyed reading about the history of Tamriel so he picked up a copy of "Brief History of the Empire", found a table, and began reading.

Four books and five hours later two more patrons entered the building. Arronax looked up from his book and saw Renwick and Radont.

"We're ready when you are" said Renwick.

Arronax returned the book to its place on the shelf and said "We need to look over some maps and choose the best route to Crul, then we just need to gather our gear and we'll head out."

"What's in Crul that we need?" Asked Renwick, he had heard the stories and would have rather avoided the town if possible.

"That's where Stradyn is—I hope," was the reply.

With that, the 3 soldiers returned to Fort Monmooth and spread out a map on a wooden table.

"We could head straight north from here through the West Gash region," Renwick said, tracing his finger over the map, "then go east along the coast until we came to the Grazelands, from there we can find a boat and sail to Crul." He stepped back as Radont and Arronax studied the map.

Arronax gave his opinion, "The ash storms will be pretty bad this time of year up through the West Gash, plus we would have to cross through the Ashlander camps to get to the Grazelands and they won't let us walk through unchallenged."

He pointed to Balmora and traced the map northeast; "If Halldin were still leading us he would go this way, straight to the Grazelands. It would take us close to the Ghostgate but if we take some potions to cure blight disease we should be ok. We can avoid the southern Ashlander camps easier in the rocky terrain. Once we get to the Grazelands it will be an easy journey straight north to the Sea of Ghosts."

Renwick nodded, "Sounds good to me."

Arronax looked across the table at Radont who looked up and said simply, "That'll work."

Rolling up the map, Arronax said "OK then, lets get our gear and we can head out, Nalik said he would have our stuff ready in the armory."

Walking through the solid steel door to the armory, the soldiers were stunned to see three complete sets of ebony armor waiting for them. Only the highest-ranking officers of the Imperial Legion or the richest nobles in Tamriel were able to afford the coveted armor. The helms were perfectly shaped out of the hard material and had a horizontal slit about an inch wide to see out of. There was a vertical slit the same width running down the middle exposing the nose and mouth of the wearer making it easier to breath when combat got intense. Gold bordered the slits and contrasted with the deep blue, almost black, of the rest of the helm. Gold was also inlaid in a royal pattern on the breastplate; the pauldrons, greaves and boots were all one dark blue color.

The wood elf and two Imperials walked around their armor with wide-eyed admiration, running their fingers over the smooth metal. Renwick found an ebony bow and short sword with his while Radont get an ebony katana. Arronax had only a longsword and shield made from the ebony waiting for him, but knew that he would soon wield a weapon more powerful than any in all of Tamriel. The shield was 5 feet tall and 3 feet wide, big enough to cover a grown Imperial if he ducked behind it yet it was lighter than a small steel buckler. Picking up the shield, Arronax immediately felt energy pulsing through his arm.

"This shield is enchanted," he said, surprised.

Nalik nodded, "Yes, it has a constant feather effect on it, that's why it feels so light. It will also deflect any magic that hits it, I thought it would come in handy on this mission." His voice dropped to just above a whisper as if an unseen enemy was nearby, "You will have to walk there, we don't know if the Sixth House will be looking for you at the silt strider ports."

The three soldiers eagerly donned their newly acquired armor, noticing how comfortable it was for being such a heavy material. Each one had a pack to carry with food, water, and various potions that they may need along the way. They hoped they wouldn't have to use any, but it would be foolish not to take them on a journey that led them close to the Ghostgate.

Leaving Fort Monmooth, the soldiers headed northeast through the rocky, barren terrain of the Ashlands. The noon sun was high in the sky when they left and by the time they stopped for the night the twin moons of Tamriel had replaced it. It was an uneventful day of walking over rocky crags and around smoldering lava pits that dotted the dark land like red eyes staring unblinkingly at the sky. They saw a few rats and the occasional scaly green and brown cliff racer, but nothing worth fighting or trying to sneak around. They were about 3 quarters of the way through the Ashlands when they set up camp, each one carried a simple bedroll and wolf skins and arranged them around the fire they had built to keep warm. They sat in silence for a while, listening to the crack of the fire and enjoying the warmth on their faces.

Finally Renwick spoke up, "Tell us more about this sword of yours, Arronax."

Arronax had heard the legend countless times and easily recalled it for his two traveling partners, "It all started a long time ago when the Dwemer still existed here on Vvardenfell. They were master craftsmen, using steam to power their metal army, the remnants of which still run rampant through almost all the Dwemer ruins on the island. They created a blade that would allow the wielder to have a limitless supply of magicka, making them the most powerful mage in existence. They named it after one of their greatest warriors and it was to be used strictly for the good of Tamriel. They made it so powerful that to keep it out of the wrong hands the sword disappears when the evil is gone. Unfortunately, the blade was severely unstable and whenever anyone tried to use it they would be destroyed by the overwhelming amount of magicka coursing through their bodies. They needed something that would channel the energy and hold it until it was needed, that's when they made the armor that Halldin put on. The armor is just ordinary Dwemer armor without Stradyn to power it, well, everything but the helm."

"There was a powerful Dwemer mage helping to create the armor, he was consumed by his lust for power and secretly cast a special soul trap spell on the helm so that when he died his soul would be trapped in it. He would then be able to control anyone unfortunate enough to put on the helm. That person would then be able to control the undead so don't be alarmed when the deceased start popping up in strange places. He can control the undead as easily as he controls his own arms—they are part of his consciousness now. Halldin is probably looking for Stradyn right now."

Arronax's voice trailed off and he stared at the rocky ground.

"And how do you fit into all of this?" Renwick asked.

Arronax took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then replied, "I am a 'Channeler', I can use Stradyn without wearing the armor." He said it like it was common knowledge. "There are other, lesser channelers that can use a fraction of the power—most of them are part of the sixth house cult. That's enough talking for one night, I'm tired and we have a lot of walking ahead of us." Arronax said laying back on his bedroll and pulling the wolf skins over him.

Renwick did the same but Radont stood, picking up his sheathed katana and strapping it to his side, he suggested, "We should take turns keeping watch, you never know when an ashlander tribe will come wandering over."

Arronax and Renwick nodded sleepily. It was an uneventful night and after an hour of standing and guarding, Radont sat and stared at nothing in particular. After rousing Arronax an hour later it was his turn to crawl under the wolf skins. The ebony armor was comfortable enough to leave on while sleeping, meaning the sleeping ghosts would be battle ready as soon as they could stand and grab their weapons. Renwick took the last 2-hour shift and woke everyone just as the first sign of sunlight broke over the rocky landscape signaling the last uneventful day of their journey.

Three hours later they were standing at the edge of the Grazelands. Gently rolling grass covered hills stretched out before them like waves from the sea frozen in time. Solitary trees standing proudly like guardians of the hills dotted the landscape. The soft ground made walking easier and the three soldiers were over half way through the fertile green region before they stopped for the night.

Renwick took the first uneventful watch this time followed by Arronax. When it was time for Radont's patrol, he resolved not to sit and wait this time. He headed off into the night carrying Arronax's shield with him. He could use the katana with one hand if he had to, and this was one of the only times he thought he would get to carry an enchanted item. The stars in the clear night sky shone down on the young Imperial as he made his rounds. Looking up into the sky he noticed that both moons were full, when he returned his gaze to the hills his heart almost stopped beating.

Arronax fell asleep quickly for the second night in a row but didn't sleep long. Snapping his eyes open, Arronax thought he heard something in the stillness of the night. All he heard was silence. He heard it again a few seconds later, the sound that roused him from his slumber. It was Radont yelling something to him but the Imperial couldn't make out what it was. Arronax sat up to hear better but it was silent.

Radont yelled again and this time Arronax heard it. Jumping to his feet he glanced over at Renwick, he was awake now with a confused look on his face—he hadn't heard.

"Werewolves." Arronax said, picking up his sword.

Renwick quickly stood, notching an arrow and scanning the hills. He saw Radont pop over the crest of an adjacent hill, sprinting as fast as the ebony armor would let him. When he saw the werewolves tearing after Radont, Arronax froze, fear crept up his spine in icy spasms as he dropped his weapon, looking with dread at the four yellow-eyed beasts sprinting to his location.

Radont was at the bottom of the hill when he turned, shield up, to face the oncoming atrocities. He saw that Arronax was frozen with fear and decided to try and fight the wolves himself with the help of Renwick's bow. The lead wolf jumped at him, stretching its clawed hands out in front to tackle its prey. The brown haired beast struck Radont's shield, knocking him over backwards, but Radont was prepared for it. He let go of the shield kicking it, and the wolf, into the air. The wolf's arms flailed about for a second as it tried to steady itself, it was a useless effort as the first of Renwicks arrows struck just behind the pointed ears of the beast killing it instantly.

Renwick quickly notched another arrow and let it fly straight between the eyes of the closest wolf charging up the hill. It yelped as it crashed into the soft earth, rolling from the momentum it was carrying and finally coming to a stop at the feet of Arronax.

The Imperial solder blinked and shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind of the gripping fear. It worked; he picked up his blade just as the third wolf lunged at him. Rolling to the side he came up swinging but the wolf was unnaturally quick easily dodging the ebony longsword with a roll of its own. Arronax tried again and missed for a second time, the wolf, baring its large fangs and growling swung at his face. Jerking his head back, the large claw narrowly missed Arronax's unhelmed head; he lost his footing and fell backwards crashing to the ground. The wolf saw its opportunity and leaped onto his chest, claw up ready to strike. The third arrow from Renwicks bow earned him his third kill of the night as the wolf toppled backwards landing with a thud. Arronax took a second to gather his breath and stop shaking before standing.

Radont was having an equally hard time disbatching the last of the werewolves. Every swing from his katana either cut into air or earth, but never the flesh of the beast. His arms were burning from fatigue and his armor weighed heavily on his shoulders. One more swing yielded the same results, the wolf dodged to the side swinging with his claw at the same time. This time the feral claw gave Radont three deep lacerations from his temple down to his jaw line. He staggered and fell as the lycanthropy infected former human jumped towards him, claws ready. Another arrow smashed its way through the last wolfs skull in mid-jump, turning it sideways and landing next to Radont.

The katana wielding soldier stood breathing heavily from the adrenaline fueled battle. Picking up the shield, he walked up the hill noting the three wolves lying slain with three arrows protruding from their heads. He was impressed and was about to say so when he saw the fourth wolf/arrow combination at the top of the hill and nearly dropped his sword.

"Four wolves with four arrows?" He said with new respect for the small wood elf. Renwick shrugged.

Radont went on, "That's something you only hear about in legends, Renwick Wolfslayer."

"The name has a nice ring to it." He replied, smiling.

Radont washed the blood off and quaffed two healing potions before taking on a more serious expression as he turned to face Arronax, slamming his katana back into its sheath. "What happened to you?" He said icily.

The big Imperial was surprised, Radont didn't talk much and when he did it was usually in a more reserved tone, especially when addressing a fellow ghost.

"I don't like your tone soldier." He said, crossing his arms.

Radont brushed the comment aside and continued his attack.

I don't really care if you like my tone or not, a good leader doesn't freeze when a battle is at hand no matter what or who the enemy is."

Arronax got defensive, "I already told you, I am _not_ a leader and if Halldin heard you talk like this…"

Radont cut him off mid-sentence, "Halldin is dead," he snapped.

Arronax opened his mouth to reply but couldn't find the words. The young, usually quiet, Imperial was right, Halldin wouldn't be coming back, and he would die by his hand.

"You're right, Radont." He said apologetically.

Radont's face became less intense before he continued, "I've never heard of werewolves running around the grazelands, where do you think they came from?"

Arronax surveyed the green land before replying, "There's got to be a cave or two around here somewhere, they probably came out to feed on any wild animals they could catch but thought we would make better meals."

As he said it, Renwick noticed the ground moving as if something was burrowing just below the surface. A boney, skinless hand holding a steel longsword emerged from the soft ground followed by another. The second hand was holding a small round buckler, this it put on the ground and pushed against it. An ever-grinning skull came from the hole next, it's eyeless sockets seemingly fixed on the three confused soldiers. The skeleton hoisted itself from it's former home leaving a gaping hole in the ground.

_Ballgore, _Arronax thought.

"I'll take care of this," said Radont, unsheathing his katana. However strange it's method of travel was, it _was_ just one skeleton. He took a step towards it and another skeleton pushed its way up from the ground, followed by two more immediately after. Radont stopped and looked over the grass filled landscape, skeletons were popping up everywhere and converging on their location.

"I think we should try to outrun them," Renwick said, putting his bow on his back.

Arronax nodded, picking up his shield. Radont, sheathing his sword, turned and started running. At first it seemed they would outrun the undead horde easily, but as they ran they noticed more grinning skeletons pushing their way up from the ground next to them, then in front of them. The ghosts stood back to back, weapons drawn, surrounded by a slowly tightening noose of undead. They could see them clearly now, some skeletons were just bones, others had wisps of grey or white hair hanging loosely from their skulls. Some had rotting flesh still clinging stubbornly to their dirty bones and a few seemed to have died recently, their clothes tattered but intact.

"I hope you're up for a fight," Arronax said nervously.

Radont wasn't, he was still fatigued from the last one. Four figures standing atop one of the larger hills caught his attention. The bright sun was directly behind them silhouetting their forms and casting long shadows that stretched down the hill. They seemed to be wearing robes—Radont hoped they were mages. He got his answer three seconds later when all four figures stretched out their hands towards the gathering of undead. Fire leapt from their hands crackling towards the wall of skeletons and zombies.

The first blast hit with enough force to send any unlucky body flipping through the air. Three more fire blasts struck near the previous one scorching the ground and creating a quickly closing path through the undead legions. Seeing their chance for escape, the three soldiers sprinted down the newly burned path just out of reach of the any zombies not charred black by the fiery inferno coming relentlessly from the hands of the unidentified figures.

Sprinting up the hill, the Ghosts could hear the cries of the monstrosities behind them as they were engulfed in flames. Reaching the top they saw that the four figures were all dark blue, almost gray, skinned Dark Elves. The three soldiers turned to see the handiwork of the powerful mages. Nothing moved in the blackened area of the Grazelands except for ashes blown carelessly around by an early morning breeze. They were impressed, and grateful, until they turned their attention back to the mages. They were donned in dark brown robes with expressions on their thin faces that bordered on maliciousness. The grateful smiles quickly evaporated from the faces of Arronax, Renwick, and Radont.

The mage standing slightly in front of the other three spoke slowly.

"I am Dronos, member of the Sixth House. I know who you are and what you're looking for, we didn't save you out of charity, we saved you so you could lead us to Stradyn."

His tone indicated that this was a non-negotiable matter but Arronax felt it was his responsibility to speak up anyways.

"I will never…"

Dronos raised a hand, silencing the Imperial.

"Teleport them," he ordered. Each of the three mages standing back raised their hands, chanting in an unidentified language.

Arronax found himself suddenly in the middle of a small poorly lit cell. It didn't feel or look like any Imperial cell he had ever seen, it was more organic than the cold stone cells he was used to seeing. The floor of his cell seemed to be packed down dirt, the walls were made of sharp jagged rocks as if the cell had been carved out of the side of a mountain. In front of him was a wooden door with a small barred window cut into it. Peering through, he saw that his cell was in an equally poorly lit hallway made out of the same jagged rocks that encased him. He could see more cells lining the hall stretching beyond his site in both directions. There didn't seem to be any guards around so he ventured a yell.

"Radont? Renwick?"

Their detached replies came from somewhere to his left, one or two cells down. He was about to ask how they were when he heard footsteps stomping down the hallway. A stern faced guard dressed in steel armor stared at him through the window with emotionless eyes and an expression of contempt etched on his face.

He spoke with authority; "You will remove your armor and weapons, place them next to the door and move to the back of the cell."

The Imperial wasn't in much of a position to argue so he did as the guard commanded. Standing in the back of his wearing only brown pants and a shirt, Arronax watched as the guard unlocked the door and grabbed the armor, sword, and shield from the ground while keeping a wary eye on the captive. Handing the armor to a guard standing out of site, he closed and locked the door then went down the hallway confiscating the armor and weapons of the other two soldiers.

Finding a relatively smooth part of he wall, Arronax sat leaning against it with his hands behind his head.

_This is quite a mess you've gotten yourself into this time, _he said to himself. _So what's the plan Arronax, oh great and mighty leader of The Ghosts?_ He chuckled at himself out loud.His thoughts drifted to what Radont had said after the wolf attack. _He called you a leader, start acting like one. _He made up his mind in time to hear more footsteps coming down the hall. He hoped the guards were armed.

The footsteps stopped outside his cell as he stood to his feet. Opening the door, the same stern faced guard as before came in with a sword sheathed at his side and a mage behind him. Moving with lightning speed Arronax chopped at the guards exposed neck with his hand flat and palm down. It had the effect of instantly killing the guard. Stepping forward, he unsheathed the guard's sword before the body hit the ground. The mage was surprised but reacted quickly, moving his hands to cast a spell. The words for the spell never left the mages mouth as Arronax stabbed him straight through the neck.

Stumbling back, the mage grabbed the pommel of the blade in a desperate attempt to unsheathe the sword from his neck. He made gurgling sounds as blood poured from his mouth and neck onto his robe and spattered on the floor. Lurching back, the mage finally fell into a lifeless heap on the dirty ground. Arronax bent over pulling the blade from the corpse and also procured the short sword the mage had strapped to his side. Turning his attention back to the dead guard, he thanked him for the keys and walked out of his cell. Turning left he walked a couple paces and peered into the next cell. He saw Radont sitting with his back to one of the side walls staring at nothing in particular. Even when the lock rattled he didn't look up. Only when the door swung briskly open did he notice his fellow Imperial standing triumphantly in the doorway holding two weapons. Radont raised his brown eyebrows, waiting for Arronax to speak expecting thunder to come from his mouth.

"We're leaving," he said with an air of authority, holding out the mages short blade for Radont.

Radont stood.

"Yes sir!" He said, grinning as he took the blade from his leader.


	3. Sympathy and Vows

**The Last Slave – Part III: Sympathy and Vows**

Sounds of battle coming from outside his Balmora home caused the old archeologist's eyes to snap open. Leaping from his soft bed Nalik threw on a random combination of clothes from a wooden dresser and grabbed a steel mace he kept nearby. Flinging the door open, he moved quickly down a short hallway to the top of a flight of richly carpeted stairs. He stopped abruptly when he saw a dirty skeleton waiting for him at the bottom with a long blade in one hand and a shield strapped to the other. _A skeleton in Balmora… in my own house? _All attempts of rationalization failed as the surprised Imperial stared at the abomination. The undead warrior almost seemed to laugh as it effortlessly navigated the stairs towards the gray haired, mace-wielding target. Nalik swung first and connected with the skeletons shield with a resounding gong. The intruder stumbled backwards from the surprisingly powerful blow. Nalik swung again and smashed the shield a second time, knocking the skeleton off its feet and causing it to tumble backwards down the stairs.

The Imperial was quick for an old man and was on the skeleton in an instant. His powerful steel mace smashed the grinning skull into fragments with a satisfying crunch. Nalik moved with haste to the front of his well furnished home. The front door was busted into small splinters and he could see citizens of Balmora running in chaotic patterns outside. He stepped through the broken doorway and was greeted by the most horrific scene to ever pass his eyes and register in the darkest recesses of his brain. Outnumbered Hlaalu guards wearing bulky, heavy, gold colored armor were hopelessly trying to hold off the tide of undead pouring relentlessly into the city. He watched in horror as unarmed men and woman were cut down where they stood, some dying instantly while others were left to scream in agony during their last minutes of life.

"Citizen!" Yelled a guard rounding the corner of the house, "We have to abandon the city, make for Fort Monmooth and get as many people as you can to follow you."

Nalik nodded and sprinted down the stone, blood-stained road. As he ran across the bridge he glanced over the side, the Odai River ran red from the blood of the fallen as mangled bodies lazily, almost peacefully down the slow moving river. The archeologist yelled to as many people as he could as he ran by, urging them to the fort.

Twenty scared and confused citizens escorted by seven exhausted guards were the only ones to arrive at Fort Monmooth. The rest of what once was the great city of Balmora lay slaughtered in the streets, the ground drank their blood as the legion of armed skeletons trampled them underfoot further desecrating the sacred town. The survivors were quickly ushered into the fort, the doors were shut tight and locked and the Imperial archers on the battlements were ready, their steel gaze pointing to the west. Nalik sat in a wooden chair in disbelief, some survivors wept for the fallen while others tried to comfort them, the remainder sat in an unblinking daze unsure whether they should feel rage or oppressive sadness.

Halldin watched from a distance, a menacing grin spread across his helmed face as the city was abandoned. The attack on Balmora was a statement—a warning, when Halldin wrested control of Vvardenfell, and eventually all of Tamriel, none would oppose him –none but The Channeler. _I do not fear the weakling Arronax or his blade; his death will mark the end of Imperial rule. _Halldin strode through the streets of Balmora admiring his new city and laughing at the wounded citizens cries for help.

* * *

The euphoria that had accompanied the escape from their rock encased cells was waning now. Instead of running triumphantly down dimly lit corridors the three Imperial soldiers stepped hesitantly through a maze of rocky tunnels. The only light they had was a lantern they took from a storage room that had also housed their armor and weapons, but not their packs. Their ebony helms were strapped to their sides to give them better visibility in the darkness and they clanked noisily against their armor encased thighs with each step.

The soldiers walked single file through a narrow passage with weapons drawn. They had not seen anyone for what seemed like hours. Arronax led the way with Renwick following, Radont kept a wary eye behind them, looking for pursuers. They turned a corner and were greeted by another rocky narrow tunnel that stretched out of the reach of the lamps light. Arronax fought the urge to let his shoulders slump in frustration and despair, instead he pressed on resolutely down the tunnel with the other two soldiers following close behind.

Arronax almost walked right past the door before stopping abruptly, causing his trailers to scramble in order to avoid crashing into him. The door was made out of rock, blending almost invisibly with the surrounding tunnel. The only distinguishing feature was a dull iron handle covered with rust sticking out of the rocky wall. Arronax held the light up as if trying to discern more about what was on the other side by looking closely at the handle. He couldn't and backed away looking at Renwick then at Radont. The soldiers returned his gaze, waiting for his decision.

The new leader of The Ghosts put his gauntlet clad hand on the handle and turned, the door swung quietly inward into a large cavernous space. The three soldiers walked through greeted by flickering light coming from torches mounted around the walls. It wasn't a lot of light, but enough for Arronax to put his lamp on the ground in order to explore the area with the protection of his shield.

"Can you see anything, Renwick?" He asked, letting the elf move into the cave.

Renwick flicked his night eyes around the room noting the landscape, "Looks clear."

The cavern had a circular shape with rocky crags sticking out of the ground in random places casting shadows for potential enemies to lurk in. One such enemy hid in a deep shadow near the door the soldiers had just entered from.

"I don't think there are any other exits here," Arronax remarked as he finished his exploration of the cave.

"I found something," Radont called out. He had walked around one of the larger rock formations and was standing in a shadow holding the lantern.

Arronax and Renwick circled the rocks and looked where Radont was pointing. There was a bedroll wedged between two rocks with tattered clothes scattered around. Someone or some_thing_ had been here before, though it was impossible to tell when the occupant would come back, if they planned on coming back at all.

A feeling of dread slowly crept over Arronax causing him to shiver slightly.

"We should get out of here." The other two soldiers nodded, the same feeling had come over them as well.

The soldiers rounded the rock formation and headed for the door when they were stopped by a sultry female voice behind them.

"What's the rush?" Said the voice.

The Ghosts spun around and looked frantically into the dim lighting.

"Who's there?" Arronax demanded.

Renwick's trained night eyes saw her first, a slim feminine figure slowly walking towards them out of the shadows. Arronax and Radont saw her at the same time as she moved into what little light there was in the large cavern. She was a Breton, a natural magik user, with dark straight hair that hung to her shoulders; a black robe hugged her figure, accenting her curves and giving a look of royalty. She swayed slowly up to the soldiers now standing shoulder to shoulder, purposefully giving them time to drink in her beauty.

"My name is Mabrelle—are you lost," she asked suggestively when she had finally stopped in front of the trio of soldiers.

Arronax swallowed hard before replying, "N-No, I- I mean yes, well, we're looking for a way out, yes."

She smiled and walked slowly around them as she talked, "Is that all you want?"

Her hand brushed against Radont's exposed neck; it was cold—unnaturally cold.

Arronax answered again when she was back in front of the group, "We could use some healing potions…" he said as he tried unsuccessfully to avert his gaze to the rocks.

The attractive Breton laughed, showing her white teeth.

"I can do better than healing potions," she said seductively, flashing another smile.

Renwick snapped out of his daze long enough to notice two of her top teeth were longer than the others and came to relatively sharp points.

"VAMPIRE!" He yelled, notching an arrow and firing. Mabrelle hissed, moving in a blur as the arrow bounced harmlessly off the opposite wall. The soldiers looked around frantically searching for the vampire. Renwick's eyes narrowed as he scanned the cave looking for movement. Arronax raised his shield and squinted into the darkness holding his blade with a white-knuckled grip.

Radont was barely able to leap and roll out of the way as a blurred shadow screamed past him. It turned quickly and came at him for another pass. Renwick made a quick judgment and dove for the figure as it ran towards his fellow soldier. He judged wrong and missed, grabbing only air as he tumbled to the ground. Radont was just standing up when he was knocked off his feet again, landing hard on the rocky ground.

The vampire quickly moved towards Arronax, leaping at him with her mouth open and hands out. He deflected her with his shield and sent the temptress crashing onto the ground. The Imperial soldier tried to jump on her to pin her down but the robed figure rolled effortlessly out of the way. _She's toying with us, having fun before she turns us_ Arronax thought as he stood again.

Another attack sent him reeling but he didn't fall, instead he regained his balance and charged at the slim figure. The vampire simply stepped casually out of the way, laughing. But in her attempt to wear out Arronax she had forgotten about Radont. It wasn't the first time an enemy of the young Imperial had done it, but it proved to be just as costly a mistake for a vampire as it was for an enemy soldier. Radont leapt out of a shadow and grabbed Mabrelle around her slim waist, bringing the Breton to the ground with him. He stood lifting the vampire and pushed her light frame easily against a rocky outcropping with katana drawn and gauntleted hand around her neck.

All three soldiers were breathing heavily and sweat dripped from their faces like rain.

Arronax caught his breath and spoke forcefully, "How do we get out of these caves?"

The vampire looked dreamily into the eyes of each soldier hoping for sympathy but found only a steel gaze staring back at her. Her eyes turned cold.

"Follow the tunnel you were on before you came in here, it will lead you to the surface." She said with a bored tone.

"Where is Halldin," Arronax asked.

"I don't know who you're talking about," the vampire replied truthfully.

Arronax didn't believe her, "You are undead; you should know where he is. Tell me and you will die quickly and escape your tormented state."

"I am not undead," she refuted, "vampires are just diseased people—like werewolves."

Renwick spoke up: "Is there a cure?

Mabrelle nodded slowly and let her gaze fall to the floor, she spoke in a sad quiet voice, "I have given up my search for it, I had hope at one time but that's gone now. All I have left is a thirst for blood and nightmare filled sleep. I am hated and feared everywhere I go, an abomination to life; if you have pity you will destroy me."

"Be careful, Radont," commanded Arronax, "She may be planning more trickery."

Radonts eyes locked with the bright blue eyes of the vampire. She reached down and took his hand in hers. He could feel the coldness of death through his gauntlet as she slowly lifted his hand and blade to her neck.

"Please…" she pleaded, a tear forming at the edge of her eye, "for me."

For a brief second Radont saw humanity in her eyes like a ray of sunlight stabbing triumphantly through a black menacing storm cloud.

"No. I won't… I can't do it." Radont said, releasing his grip around her neck and sheathing his sword. "There is a place northwest of Suran called Bal Ur, you will find your cure there."

She smiled at the young Imperial as a single tear slid down her cheek, "I wont forget you—or your kindness."

Radont returned her smile as he turned and walked back to where Arronax and Renwick were standing.

Arronax clasped him on the shoulder, "It was a good choice Radont—you will make a great leader someday." He turned and headed for the door, "let's move out," he commanded. The three soldiers walked through the door and continued down the narrow tunnel with renewed vigor in their steps. Mabrelle vowed silently to the walls that she would find Radont again after she found her cure.

The Three members of the Imperial Legion walked a mile down the tunnel; turning sharply to the right the path began to ascend slightly. After another three hundred meters the soldiers came to a wooden door set into the rocks. Arronax was hesitant to open it but resolved that there was no other way to go but through. Opening the door the trio of soldiers were greeted by a warm sun and fresh Vvardenfell air.

They were in the grazelands still, but it was the end of their journey through the rolling grass covered hills. Stretched out before them like a mirror for the gods was the Sea of Ghosts. Small waves lapped lazily at the white shore as mudcrabs slothfully moved over the sand.

A small wooden boat was overturned on the shore, the soldiers walked to it looking for an owner. Whoever may have once called this vessel their own was nowhere in sight and probably left the boat for the elements. Arronax, Radont, and Renwick heaved the boat over and pushed it out into the water. The two Imperials and their Bosmer companion stepped in carefully, the boards creaked and whined at the weight of the soldiers but held and managed to stay floating.

"This isn't a boat," remarked Renwick dryly, "It's a concoction of wood that someone managed to throw together after too many ales at the tavern."

Arronax chuckled, "It beats swimming with the slaughterfish, my friend."

Renwick shrugged and nodded agreement. "We should stop in Dagon Fel for supplies before we go to Crul."

Arronax agreed, "Good idea, it's just a short hop to an island off that way," Arronax waved his hand in the general north direction.

The town's outskirts consisted of small wooden shacks that were banged together quickly—fishing villages were set up the same way all over Vvardenfell. What separated Dagon Fel from the rest of the smaller fishing tows was its center; it had large two story buildings that housed an inn, a blacksmith, a tavern, and other general goods stores.

A cool breeze blew through the town as the soldiers arrived. They marched quickly to the general goods store. It was a warm place with a Breton merchant behind the counter who stared nervously when the soldiers entered. His wares were arranged neatly on wooden shelves and consisted of a small assortment of potions, a few low quality weapons, and a smattering of common clothes.

Arronax was the first to notice the nervous stares of not just the merchant, but all the patrons of the small store as well. Their eyes darted about as if they held some dark secret that they wanted the soldiers to know but were afraid to speak it. It was strange, but Arronax couldn't be bothered with the eccentric nature of this fishing town.

The Imperial walked up to the merchant, "I'm looking for healing potions, do you have any in stock?" He asked politely.

The merchant nodded and reached under counter with shaking hands. He procured four bottles from a cupboard and set them on the wooden counter. "Will that be all?" He asked weakly.

Arronax nodded and noticed the merchants eyes dart to his right. The soldier looked to where the merchant had glanced and saw to his surprise a robed Dark Elf that he had not noticed upon entering.

It was Dronos, the same Dark Elf that had captured them before.

Arronax and Radont unsheathed their weapons in a flash of ebony while Renwick trained a notched arrow at the smug Dark Elf. Dronos put his hand firmly on the back of a female Wood Elf's neck and urged her forward staying behind her for cover. With his free hand, Dronos created a fireball and held it close to the trembling Bosmer's face. The Wood Elf whimpered but complied, moving forward as tears welled up in her brown eyes.

"Drop your weapons and the elf will live," he said fiercely.

Arronax glanced around the room, then stared at the dark elf with narrowed eyes.

"You wouldn't dare…"

Dronos smiled wickedly and pushed the elf forward. A fireball leapt from his hands and consumed the elf, killing her instantly. Some patrons screamed, others stared in slack-jawed disbelief. Arronax took a step towards the dark elf but he quickly grabbed another victim, stopping the Imperial in his tracks.

This time he held a male redguard, another fireball danced in his hand. "You choose, Arronax. Drop your weapons and I poison him slowly, come at me again and I'll burn him."

Arronax was speechless; he lowered his sword but didn't drop it.

"Fool" Dronos said, burning his second victim.

"I don't have time to wait for your answers." He said grabbing a Breton female.

"How many will have to die, Arronax? How many will fall before you listen? Their blood is on your hands."

"What do you want?" Arronax asked through clenched teeth.

"You know the answer to that question, Imperial," Dronos snapped, "take me to Stradyn and she doesn't get burned."

Arronax looked with compassion at the struggling Breton but remained silent.

She looked at the imperial with tears streaming freely down her cheeks, "Please, don't let him kill me…" she pleaded.

Dronos tightened his grip, "Do we have a deal?"


	4. Stradyn

**The Last Slave – Part IV: Stradyn**

Nalik paced around the carpeted chambers of Captain Barus, the Imperial officer in charge of Fort Monmooth. The archeologist's hands were clasped behind his back, his head bowed in thought.

"We must re-take Balmora," he said suddenly, looking up, "the dead citizens there deserve proper burials and the survivors deserve to mourn in the comfort of their own homes." Nalik was trying to sound heroic. But the sad reality was he was no hero, just a common archeologist. As a child he often dreamed of one day being considered a hero, going sword to sword with a Dremora lord, rescuing a helpless victim of evil and being famous everywhere he went. The old Imperial liked to think he still had a potential hero in him. _Hadn't Vivec been a common man before becoming a god? _He reminded himself encouragingly.

"I agree, Nalik, and I want to take the city back as much as you do, but the fact is we don't have the power, this fort was built to defend the city from a living enemy not a crazed Nord with an undead army, and it certainly wasn't built to attack a fortified target. I've sent word to the other forts on Vvardenfell, that's all I can do unless you're an Emperor-caliber leader." Barus sat heavily into a wooden chair, his imperial issued armor clanking as he wiped his face with his hands in frustration.

Nalik stopped pacing and looked intently at the exhausted Captain, "I am not such a leader, but I know of one who is."

* * *

Arronax slowly returned his sword to its leather sheath without taking his eyes off the Dark Elf and his Breton hostage. Radont did the same as Renwick eased the tension off his bow and returned the arrow to the quiver slung on his back. 

"Fine," said Arronax icily, "we'll do things your way—for now."

Dronos grinned hatefully, "Heroes really are the same everywhere, spill some innocent blood and they'll do anything." He released his grip on the hostage; she collapsed to the floor sobbing loudly as other patrons tried to comfort her.

"To Crul then," Dronos said as he extinguished the flame in his hand.

Once outside, the soldiers and the mage quickly made their way to the old boat and climbed in. They set off from the docks making their way willingly to a cursed city.

Dronos sat in the front of the boat facing the back to keep an emotionless eye on the Ghosts. Arronax sat directly in front of him with Radont manning the oars and Renwick sitting in the back hoping for an opportunity to put an arrow through the mage's skull.

The only sounds were the rhythmic splashing of the oars in the water, waves lapping methodically against the wooden hull, and the creaking, groaning and complaining of the boat as it cut its way through the sea. Finally Dronos spoke up.

"Tell me, Arronax, did you know those people in the store, the hostages?"

"No, I didn't know any of them." _Where in the name of Vivec is he going with this? _He wondered to himself.

"Why, then, were you swayed by their lives? Do you care when you hear about some old farmer dying, or a youth being cut down in his prime? Are you bothered when an assassin terrorizes Cyrodiil or High Rock? When you agreed to take me to Stradyn I released the Breton woman yet she didn't thank you, she didn't turn and slap me, she fell and wept like a child, why do you care for the weak?"

Arronax needed no time to think about his reply, "Everyone has the right to live a peaceful life, when I joined the Legion I swore to protect the weak, fight for justice, and destroy evil where it stands. If those are the traits of heroes, then I guess that's what I am."

Dronos shook his head in disgust, "You heroes and your vows. All that power governed by meaningless words, you are as weak as the rest of the commoners."

"Living by a code of ethics, following vows you've made, those take more strength than gaining power or prestige." Arronax retorted, "It is you, Dronos, who is the weak one."

Outwardly, the mage remained emotionless, on the inside he was burning with rage. _Who does this fool think he is? He has no power and yet he calls _Me _the weak one. _Dronos kept his rage hidden and said simply, "We shall see, Imperial."

The boat continued on in silence, each passenger digesting what was said and trying not to think about where they were going. When finally they reached Crul the sun was beginning to set creating long shadows and an orange glow to the abandoned city.

Crul was surrounded by what once was a short outer wall constructed of varying sizes of rocks, maybe seven feet high. It was crumbling now in many places and looked as if a strong wind might blow the whole thing over.

The group entered the city through the main gate, a large arch expertly crafted with the same design as the wall. The houses, too, were mostly made of stone. Some had wooden shutters still attached to their windows, others were hanging by a single hinge, and still others were lying on the ground, rotting and neglected as if waiting to be picked up, dusted off, and reattached. Most of the houses here half destroyed, the walls were spread on the ground, the furniture inside overturned and splintered. But what was most surprising were the skeletons, the bones of long dead citizens of Crul lay scattered, some were still whole but most were just a collection of limbs. A foot and ankle here, a skull and backbone there. Some ribcages had arms attached; others were smashed into unrecognizable fragments.

"What happened here?" Asked Renwick in awe of the destruction and chaos that had overtaken what surely would have been a beautiful island city.

"Necromancy," Replied Arronax. "A young, arrogant Dark Elf made a claim to be the greatest necromancer in all of Tamriel, and to prove it he would rouse Thanatos and control him. It was madness; Thanatos was a lich, an undead sorcerer with powers beyond anything anyone had ever seen. He terrorized all of Morrowind before finally being defeated and banished to Oblivion, the resting place of his skeleton was in the crypt here in Crul. The youth's friends begged him not to wake Thanatos but their pleas fell on deaf ears, he was the best and he would prove it, or so he thought. He went down to the crypt and Thanatos came out, what you see now is what happened that night. He was eventually defeated again by an undead-hunter and put back into this city."

Renwick was silent for a moment, gazing at the destruction of an entire city because of one foolish boy.

"How do you know so much?" He inquired.

"My ancestors are the ones that caught Thanatos, I have a feeling he is the one guarding Stradyn." Arronax said with indifference.

Renwick nodded, "Seems fit that he would be guarding it then."

"Enough talking, the hour is growing late and I thirst for power." Dronos said impatiently.

Arronax led the quartet through the city and stopped in front of an opening in the ground. Stairs led into darkness and ornately chiseled rocks stood guard around the gaping maw. Arronax hesitated; a palpable feeling of evil exuded from the crypt and wrapped the group in an icy shroud of despair. The Imperial willed his hand to his blade and unsheathed it. Radont did the same as Renwick brought out an arrow and notched it, Dronos had his hands raised ready to cast a spell.

Stepping into the crypt was the easy part; there were no voices to be heard from just inside. The walls were lined with long extinguished torches and spiders made their homes in undisturbed corners. The Ghost's ebony boots clanked loudly as they walked slowly, cautiously over the solid stone floor. Dronos moved silently on common shoes. The first tunnel was short and they quickly found themselves staring at an ordinary looking wooden door. Arronax gently turned the creaking handle and nudged the door open enough to peek inside. Torches were burning in this hall but that wasn't the first thing the soldier noticed. As soon as he cracked the door he heard voices, not the voices of live people—the voices of the dead. They were whispers at first, calling to the Imperial for help. A chill swept over him as if he were standing in the middle of a snowstorm, _Arronax…_ a disembodied voice called.

The rest of the group felt the chill and heard the voice as well; only Arronax's name was replaced with their own. The Imperial nudged the door open more, screams of woman, children, and brave men echoed through the hall, Arronax swung the door open, smashing it into the side of the wall, "Come out, Devil!" he yelled into the torch lit passage. As abruptly as they started the screams stopped, replaced by the lone voice of a woman, sobbing softly at the loss of a child.

"Hello? Who's there?" Asked Renwick.

The sobbing turned to demonic laughter as one by one the torches extinguished themselves blanketing the hall in thick darkness. Arronax swallowed.

"Heroes are not welcome here." Said a booming voice that shook the walls.

Dronos cast night eye on the group as they crept towards a light at the end of the un-lit corridor. When finally they reached the end the group found themselves standing in a large cavernous area. The floor was flat save for a small raised platform in the center of the room. On the platform was a glistening table made of polished ebony, and on the table stood a gem the size of a small boulder. The gem was glowing with a dull blue light that washed the walls and spilled onto the floor. It threw shimmering light onto the ceiling as if it were a star trapped under water. Arronax forgot about the voices and walked in a daze to the table.

"What is this?" he asked as he reached out to touch it. He felt the smooth surface and was going to comment on how cold it was when thousands of memories from lives he never lived flooded his mind. He saw children playing in the streets of Crul, wives cooking in stone houses, husbands working, blacksmiths pounding out armor and weapons, merchants bartering with patrons. He felt the intensity of love, the burn of hate, the heart wrenching pain of losing a loved one, the thrill of victory and the humility of defeat. Every memory ended in a fiery inferno. Radont yanked Arronax away from the rock; the leader of the Ghosts was sweating and breathless.

"That," said Dronos, "is a soul gem containing every soul from the slaughtered city of Crul. Thanatos killed the citizens then kept the souls to further torment them. Not a bad idea if you ask me."

"You are correct, sir." Said a voice from behind them. All four spun on their heels, weapons or hands raised ready to attack.

"Thanatos…" said Dronos quietly to the group. Arronax tightened his grip and prepared for battle. The lich was wrapped in a brown robe that almost covered his bony feet. The skull peering out from under the hood had a red glow where eyes were supposed to be.

"I assume you've come to claim this, Arronax." Thanatos said, holding up a blade that shined with a white light despite the dark blue hue of the room.

Arronax straightened, "I have, and if you value your un-life you will hand it over without a fight."

Thanatos tilted his head back and laughed, the walls shook and dust fell to the ground. In the next instant Thantos had thrown three fireballs in the direction of the Ghosts and Dronos. They jumped, dodged, and scrambled to get clear of the fast moving ball of flame. Lightning cracked from the lich's hand, Arronax held up his shield and the lightning bounced back at Thanatos. It was then that Arronax remembered his shield was enchanted. Thantos stepped out of the way of the bolt and unleashed another barrage of fire. Arronax ducked behind his shield again, Renwick and Radont ducked behind him, Dronos jumped behind the marble table.

"Dronos," Arronax said, "we're distracting him, now would be a good time to use your magic."

Spell after destructive spell bounced off the ebony shield. Arronax and his train of companions inched their way to the left of the lich, Dronos crept to the right, out of sight and out of mind of Thanatos.

"You can't hide behind that shield forever Imperial." Thanatos said as more lightning leapt from his skinless hands. "Come, fight me like your ancestors of old."

A fiery blast hit Thanatos from behind causing him to stumble forward and lose focus. It was all the Ghosts needed; they were on the lich in a flash, knocking him onto his back. Stradyn flew from his hands and landed at the feet of Dronos. He snatched it up greedily and laughed wildly. Arronax looked up, distracted by the howling laughter. Thanatos kicked his way out of the grip of the soldiers and stood facing Dronos in a rage. He threw fireball after fireball at the Dark Elf but Dronos had whispered a speed spell and effortlessly dodged the attacks. He lunged at Thanatos with wild eyes and planted the sword into the chest of the undead monster. The lich slumped and fell as Dronos removed Stradyn from his opponent. He turned and faced the trio of soldiers.

"I will enjoy killing you, _hero_." He said with contempt. Dronos raised his hand to deliver a lethal dose of lightning when a powerful blow from a mace wielding Thanatos struck the side of his head. He reeled as another strike cracked his ribs and sent Stradyn out of his hands. Arronax saw the blade flipping through the air as if the entire world had slowed to a crawl. It landed at his feet and he picked it up gingerly as if he might break it. Power surged through him, he felt healthy, strong, _alive_.

Thanatos' mace was raised for another attack but Arronax got there first. As the mace came down Dronos saw the flash of Stradyn knock the blunt weapon away. Another slash removed the head of Thanatos and a powerful telekinetic push sent the rest of the lich crashing into the solid stone wall. There was a sound of cracking bones as the body hit the floor.

Dronos stood dizzily and stumbled over to Arronax.

"Well done, Channeler."

Arronax wanted none of his trickery; he put Stradyn to the Dark Elf's throat.

"Leave this place and your cult behind, become a hero."

"Fool, have you learned nothing?" Dronos said as he created a fireball in his hand. He reached out to burn Arronax but an arrow pierced his heart instead. The Dark Elf blinked twice then fell to the ground, a pool of blood forming beneath him.

Arronax turned and faced Renwick. "Thanks."

Renwick nodded, "What do we do now?"

"Free these souls." Arronax said as he walked up to the soul gem. The imperial swung powerfully with Stradyn and smashed the gem into millions of fragments. There was a great moan as the souls found their resting place.

"Now we need to report back to Nalik." Arronax said, satisfied with the results.

Radont chimed in, "To Balmora, then?"

Arronax agreed, "To Balmora."

* * *

A steel faced, sharp-eyed Imperial archer stood on top of the battlements at fort Monmooth. He didn't want to believe what he was seeing but his eyes wouldn't lie. The archer sprinted down the stairs three at a time and burst into Captain Barus's room. 

"Captain, we have undead incoming!" He said, trying to catch his breath.

"How many?" Demanded the Captain.

"Too many to count, Sir."

"Prepare the troops, we won't be getting any sleep tonight." Captain Barus commanded gravely.


	5. Rebuild, Lead, and Live

A crisp breeze danced through the desecrated city as three figures emerged from the cold depths of Tamriel. The lead figure grasped a glowing white sword in his gauntleted hand as the trio wound their way through the ruins to the dusk-blanketed beach. The only sound defying the sacred city was the wind whistling through ebony helms and the soft crunch of sand under heavy boots. Arronax looked out over the calm hypnotic water before gripping the boat in an attempt to push it free of its sandy harness. The two remaining soldiers came alongside to help ease the wooden vessel into the sea.

**_Do not tread the ground like a beast or follow the ocean currents. Take flight, Arronax; join the feathered rulers of the sky._**

The Imperial stopped mid-push, stood, and quickly scanned the area. Renwick and Radont watched as their leader's gaze moved awkwardly from horizon to beach then into the city.

"Something wrong boss?" Renwick asked.

"Did… did you just hear that?"

Renwick's slanted eyebrows came together in confusion, "What, the wind?"

Arronax shook his head, "No, that voice, it told me to… fly."

Silence.

**_Steel is my cloak and magic my blood, I communicate not by voice but by thought. Think and I will move you, breathe a command and I will respond._**

Arronax stared at the brilliant white hue of Stradyn as he repeated the line in his head. The answer struck him like a bolt of lightning. Numbing fear and an electric excitement both fought for control but neither won. A thread of logic weaved through the emotion and tugged at his attention. _Surely that's not possible. Is it?_

_**It is.**_

The ebony clad soldier dropped Stradyn and jumped back, more out of revelatory shock than of a desire to let go. Radont lifted his eyebrows, Renwick's mouth opened to speak but Arronax was quick to explain his discovery, if only to prove or disprove his madness.

"I think that sword talks, well, not _talks_ but communicates somehow—like I'm linked to him, it, like I'm linked to _it._ It hears both my thoughts and my spoken words. It said 'Think and I will move you, breathe a command and I will respond'."

Arronax reclaimed the blade from the white sand. "Renwick, loose an arrow at me as if I were a mortal enemy."

"Are you sure," Renwick cautioned, "because I _did _kill four werewolves with four arrows."

A slight smile tugged at the Imperial's lips as he planted his feet and held Stradyn in front of him, "I'm sure. I'll be fine."

Renwick shrugged and separated himself from Arronax by fifty paces. Radont folded his arms across his chest and watched.

"Ready?" Renwick called.

A nod.

The elf reluctantly procured a wooden arrow from the ebony quiver on his back and notched it. With deliberate slowness he drew back on the bowstring, breathed, and released. The arrow whistled through the air at the Imperial, it was a good shot, a perfect shot. At first it seemed Arronax was frozen, he watched with an expressionless gaze as the arrow sped through the air intent on burying itself between his brown eyes. Then, with the speed of a god, Arronax sidestepped the missile and brought Stradyn down in a blurred slash, Renwick's arrow fell, cleaved in two.

Radont's mouth dropped open. Renwick nearly dropped his bow. Arronax looked at the broken arrow then at Renwick.

"Again," he commanded.

Renwick notched another arrow, drew, and fired. The second arrow met the same fate as the first. A third arrow joined the first two. No matter how fast Renwick unleashed the deadly iron-tipped projectiles Arronax managed to cut or deflect each one with the ease of a skilled sailor piloting a vessel on glassy calm water. The elf let loose his last arrow, the Imperial soldier fifty paces away didn't sidestep, duck, or even blink. With his free hand he snatched the arrow from the air and tossed it casually into the growing pile of hewn bolts.

Renwick slung the bow over his shoulder and marched down the beach. "I think it's time we found us a conquering madman."

"Aye, Nalik will know where to look." Arronax launched himself into the air with a simple levitation spell then dragged Radont and Renwick after him using telekinesis. Through the darkening sky they flew, over clear water, rolling grassy hills, and the peaks of the tallest mountains.

* * *

Captain Barus stood on the battlements of Fort Monmooth looking into the inky night. The silence was unsettling, the breeze that usually rushed off Red Mountain was absent, and no animals of the night would venture near the fort—they knew death was approaching on rotting feet. Despite the lack of breeze, Barus was cold, shivering slightly as he waited for the undead horde. 

The captain's eyes widened as the first fireball from an unseen hand illuminated the night. The crackling ball of flame sped towards the battlements casting a flickering glow over the landscape and causing menacing shadows to dance on the outskirts of the light. Barus and the hundred archers braced themselves as the fireball crashed into the high stone wall causing it to tremble under the impact. Heat flared on the soldier's faces as they regained balance. The captain looked back over the wall in time to see a second fireball sprinting towards them.

This time he caught a glimpse of the skeletal mage that cast it. For a brief moment the army of undead was lit by the fiery mass, a handful of mages stood in a tight formation, the rest of the army was either out of range of the light or circling around to the front gate.

"There! Fire there!" Barus commanded, pointing to where the fireball had come from. The archers complied; silence was broken by the twang of bows and the soft whisper of arrows flying towards lifeless targets. Three rounds of bolts were fired before Barus gave the cease fire command.

Silence. Nothing stirred.

"Make ready on the ground!" Barus called to the soldiers in front of the door. The metallic ding of armor being checked could be heard along with brief murmurings. Nalik tightened his grip on the heavy mace and checked the steel kite shield strapped securely to his arm. Three seconds later a magical blast collided with the thick wooden gate. The barricade shattered, sending splinters and beams into the mass of soldiers. Shields were raised to block the wooden shards, when the steel was lowered two hundred pairs of eyes set their collective gaze on the undead army.

Before charging, a skeletal mage cast burden on the human soldiers. The Imperial men-at-arms slowed, swords and maces were heavy in gauntleted hands. The armor that normally saved now became an unbearable hindrance. From the top of the battlements Barus saw his men collapsing and knew immediately what was happening.

"Dispel!" The captain of Fort Monmooth yelled to Ferrick.

The ranking Breton battlemage stationed on an adjacent wall nodded and echoed the command to his band of underlings. The group of armor clad spell casters weaved their hands in the air and threw the magic into the crowd of soldiers. With the burden spell trumped the collapsing soldiers stood resolutely and braced themselves for the charge of undead.

Barus heard the crackling of fire behind him and turned in time to see another ball of flame impact the top of the battlements directly in front of him. This time the magic exploded, flinging archers like rag dolls and sending lethal slabs of brick raining onto unsuspecting soldiers. Barus was knocked backwards but managed to loop his arm around a jagged piece of brick before falling. He dangled over the courtyard for a moment before Ferrick came to his aid with a strength spell. Barus, with the help of the spell, pulled himself up onto what was left of the wall. The Imperial clenched his teeth and unsheathed his sword. The horde would pay for that. This was _his _fort and those were _his_ men, undead or not the enemy would feel the wrath of his blade and the sting of his fury.

"Concentrate your fire on those mages," Barus commanded over his shoulder to the remnant of archers as he sprinted down the stairs.

Captain Barus' steel boots touched the soft Tamriel earth as the first wave of undead engaged his soldiers. The Imperial Legionaries were well trained but the horde had superior numbers. Like a horizontal avalanche they poured through the opening. A metallic symphony ensued as swords clashed with shields. Captain Barus cleaved his way through the mass to the front lines. His sword thrusts were fast and sure, the steel kite shield strapped to his arm deflected sword, mace, spear, and club. Deftly sidestepping an overhead swing, the captain severed an arm, then a leg, and finally the head of his opponent. With a morale boosting roar Barus and a handful of brave swordsmen charged deep into the ranks of ever-grinning skeletons in an attempt to loosen the hordes defenses.

The living corpses managed to circle the captain and his men at the cost of two dozen swordsmen. Now the cluster of humans stood in a tight circle surrounded by hideous leering faces from the grave. The Imperials wouldn't strike for fear of leaving a flank open; the undead warriors were equally entrenched, fearing the gleaming blades gripped in strong, adept hands. From his vantage point high above the battle Ferrick saw the stalemate. With a smooth Breton voice the mage uttered a turn undead spell knowing it would be dispelled by the opposing undead mages almost instantly. An instant is all Barus needed. The undead soldiers turned to run in fear but regained their courage and spun back to face the threat only to have their skulls cleaved from their shoulders by Imperial blades or crushed by the weight of a steel mace. The group of human soldiers hacked their way through the horde to rejoin the main army.

* * *

At first sight of the undead horde Nalik took a step back. One skeleton in his home he could deal with, but over a thousand of the skinless atrocities was more than the archeologist could handle. A sword-wielding steel clad skeleton rushed at the old Imperial, swinging his weapon with unequaled strength. Out of reflex Nalik lifted his shield arm. The arm numbing collision forced the Imperial to the ground; another strike snapped bones despite the shield and sent sharp pain up his arm. Out of desperation Nalik swung his mace at his attacker; he connected and smashed one of its bony feet. The undead menace jumped back in surprise but lost balance on its crushed foot and toppled forward. Nalik heard the roar of Barus and stood despite the throbbing in his shield arm. With strength he didn't realize he possessed the archeologist swung and shattered the dirty white skull into a thousand fragments. 

Another living carcass rushed the old Imperial. Nalik turned his face away from the gruesome enemy and swung blindly. He connected, sending the atrocity flipping through the air and into the midst of another skirmish. Nalik looked down at the steel mace, confused at his strength. He knew it was enchanted but… The armor clad archeologist turned and glanced up to where Ferrick was diligently casting spells. _Strength spell, I should have known. _The mage saw the Imperial's broken arm and healed it from the top of the battlements.

Nalik turned his attention back to the battlefield and was immediately beset by three more enemies. This time he didn't hesitate, didn't falter. The fear that had gripped him with paralyzing fingers during the initial onslaught was gone. The archeologist-turned-warrior narrowed his eyes, tightened the grip on his mace, and with a Barus caliber roar plunged into the midst of his attackers.

One unlucky skeleton was dispatched immediately with a blow to its exposed ribs. The bones flew through the air with the velocity of an arrow and wedged themselves into the soft flesh of a shambling zombie. Ducking a horizontal slash, Nalik stood, jumped, and ended the unlife of another soldier. The nimble soldier rolled onto his shield to avoid the broad swing of the last assailant. Coming up behind the enemy, the determined archeologist swung and snapped the spine of the skeleton as if it were a thin, dry twig.

Nalik turned with his lips curled back in a snarl looking for more enemies but all he saw was a large group of awe-struck human soldiers. They stood waiting for a command, Nalik didn't disappoint.

"Folow me," he bellowed, "We move to attack their open flank."

* * *

Ferrick cast healing spells as fast as his thin nimble hands would allow. Under the battlemage's watchful eye, along with his charge of spell weavers, only three soldiers had met their eternal fate. The Breton's brow creased in concentration as he skillfully reattached a soldiers arm from afar. He would be able to keep healing for an hour at most before his stamina abandoned him.

* * *

After the first surge of undead rolled through the gate, and after a brief Imperial retaliation push, both sides fought to an impasse. Neither human nor undead could gain ground. Every time a Legionary destroyed an undead warrior three more would take its place. The undead were equally frustrated. The Imperial army was unnaturally quick: dodging slashes, blocking swings, and turning away thrusts with ease. Limbs were reattached seconds after being severed. 

The battle raged for another hour, soldiers of both sides were now knee deep in rotting zombie corpses and the remnants of skeletal warriors. The Imperial army tried another push, the undead horde pushed back, no ground was gained. Human soldiers began to fall to the blades of the unrelenting enemy. Barus shot a fleeting look to where Ferrick was stationed; the mage was sprinting down stone stairs with blade in hand, his magic reserves were depleted.

The captain returned his attention to the battle collapsing two more skeletons. _At least we'll have _one _fresh sword arm _he thought as he blocked another blow. The Imperial's sword felt like a lead weight, his shoulders slumped as his body temperature rose under the weight of protective platemail. Even Nalik was exhausted, the strength spell had long since expired leaving the archeologist to work twice as hard for his kills.

Two more human soldiers fell at Barus' side. Doubt crept into the captain's mind like a black cloud creeping over the horizon. How could they win against an enemy with seemingly infinite resources? His answer came in the form of a trumpet.

A long blast caused human and undead alike to stop and look to where the sound had come from. The Imperial army couldn't see anything from inside the walls of the Fort, but the undead soldiers still waiting to come through the small opening could. They stirred, made growling noise and clicked their exposed teeth together. Another blast form the trumpet elicited otherworldly screams from the horde. Over the din of undead chaos Barus heard armor clad horses galloping closer to the fort.

Like a rock launched from a trebuchet the horse-bound army slammed into the flank of the horde crushing them under armored hoof while their riders swung maces, swords, and morning stars. The armor of the horses and that of their riders glinted in the moonlight as they sprinted past the opening. Captain Barus and every Imperial Legionary in Fort Monmooth lifter their armor clad fists into the air and yelled their approval of the slaughter. With renewed vigor the Imperial army cut their way through the horde to the opening. When at last they reached the gate and pushed through they were greeted by a sight both horrific and hopeful.

A field of undead remains lay strewn across the rocky landscape, over three hundred great steeds of battle and their steel clad riders stood over the bodies like gray ghostly conquerors. Barus further crushed fragmented bones as he walked out to meet a rider coming towards the fort.

The rider gracefully dismounted and removed the face covering helm. Barus was surprised to see an attractive woman under the protective steel. Dark straight hair flowed down to her shoulders, she moved with unquestioned authority.

"Hail, friend," Barus greeted with a raised sword, "I am Barus, captain of Fort Monmooth, from what fort did you ride?"

The soldier's voice was smooth and comforting, "I am called Mabrelle, we were sent here from Hawkmoth Legion Fort in Ebonheart."

"That is a long ride indeed; you and your men must be tired. We don't have stables here but our courtyard is wide and our beds are soft. Balmora has been taken by an undead army, we can discuss more inside. Please, have your men and their steeds come into the safety of the fort."

Mabrelle nodded, remounted her horse, and rode into the midst of the riders. Barus turned and reentered the fort. He ordered his men to prepare beds, find straw, and gather the dead for burial.

* * *

The stench hit Arronax long before he got to Balmora. Alighting gently on the soft grass-covered earth the Imperial sniffed the air. 

"Do you smell that?" He asked.

The two soldiers nodded, they had been in the company of death enough to know that smell. The acrid fumes of rotting flesh grew stronger as they approached the overrun city.

"Renwick, can you see anything?"

The elf scaled a high rock and scanned the city. A frown. "The city is overrun by undead. The skeletons and zombies are all well armed. I see many fallen citizens littering the streets."

Arronax stepped back and collapsed onto a short flat rock, one arm on a knee and a hand holding his forehead. "All those people…"

A long awkward silence ensued before Arronax finally spoke, "The survivors, if there are any, would have made their way to Fort Monmooth. We should head that way."

Arronax didn't wait for the nods of approval before taking to the air again. It was a short trip over the hills and rocky outcroppings to the fort. The first sight to greet The Ghosts was the bodies, or what remained of them. Hacked zombie corpses and remnants of a thousand skeletons lay scattered over two hundred yards outside the fort and led to the entrance like a twisted road of death.

The three soldiers crunched their way to the front gate where they were stopped by three over zealous guards still jumpy from the battle.

"Halt! Who goes there," the lead guard asked as he brandished a gleaming blade. The two remaining guards trained their intimidating arrows on Radont and Renwick.

Arronax thought up a calm humanoid spell, Stradyn made it happen.

"Peace to you, guardians of the Fort. We are friends," Arronax ensured them as he held up his hands in submission.

The steel blade was sheathed and arrows returned to quivers. "Very well, you may enter."

Arronax nodded his thanks to the guard as he walked through the unbarred opening into the courtyard. The Ghosts walked over, around, and through more piles of bodies to a reinforced oak door. Arronax clasped an ebony gauntleted hand around the handle, turned and entered. The main hall was spacious with two stone pillars in the center. Fire crackled and danced on wax candles lighting and warming the room. Black banners bearing a golden dragon hung proudly on either side of the door. Two hallways exited the room to the right and left leading to the barracks and armory. Past the stone pillars Captain Barus, Nalik, and a female Imperial Officer poured intently over a map of Balmora.

"…and we can put archers all over this mountain to support the troops moving in," Barus said as The Ghosts entered from the night.

Barus and Nalik glanced up at the sound of the door opening; Mabrelle continued to study the map.

"Arronax!" Nalik exclaimed with surprise, "you're timing is impeccable my friend, we were just planning our attack on Balmora." The archeologist moved closer, "is… is that…"

The leader of The Ghosts held the gleaming white blade out, "it is."

Nalik gingerly took the sword and ran his finger along the blade. He whistled as he handed it back, "that is a beautiful weapon."

Arronax nodded to Barus, "Captain."

"I was beginning to think you weren't going to make it back soldier," Barus commented as he walked across the stone floor. "Nalik told me about the sword," his eyes fell briefly, "if it is as powerful as he says it is then we have a problem."

The soldier's brow creased in confusion. "Problem?"

"Aye, a mighty problem. That armor that Halldin is wearing, do you know what it is?"

"It's used to control Stradyn. If the line of Channelers was broken then it could harness the power of the sword in times of trouble without endangering the wielder."

Nalik spoke up, "No, Arronax, the armor is a direct contradiction to the sword. If Stradyn was made for good, the armor was meticulously crafted for evil. Halldin is just as powerful as you are."

Barus waited for Arronax's shoulders to slump in despair. Instead, resoluteness etched its signature on the Imperial's face.

"Well then I guess we should do some planning. Show me what you have so far."

The Captain of Fort Monmooth glanced at Nalik, eyebrows raised. A slight smile played on the archeologist's lips, they had found their hero.

"Yes, of course, we have a map just over here," Barus said, gesturing with an open hand to the table in the back of the room. He took two steps, stopped, and turned back to The Ghosts, "I almost forgot to introduce you, this is…"

Radont finished the Captain's sentence, "Mabrelle."

The Breton turned to face the group of soldiers but only looked at one, "Radont, it's about time you got here," she said, smiling with full red lips.

Radont was hooked; he stared into the intense blue eyes of the former vampire. The dark hair that was pulled back into a ponytail and hung past her shoulders betrayed a hint of auburn in the flickering candlelight. Mabrelle's eyebrows slanted slightly giving her an elven elegance. Soft alluring skin was covered by hard, cold steel. Yet even under the weight of armor the warrioress stood proud and tall. Her movements, however small and subtle, were graceful and natural. The Breton held Radont's gaze as she tucked a strand of hair behind an ear.

Barus spoke up to end the awkward silence, "So you've met."

The young Imperial nodded, "yes, briefly."

Barus gestured to the table after another pause, "our strategy awaits."

Once the soldiers were gathered around the map Barus laid out his plan.

"We're going to have three separate forces. For the past two hours troops have been arriving form the outlying forts, I want no less than three hundred archers spread over this mountainside here." Barus pointed to the west of Balmora. "Can you lead that force Renwick?"

"My bow is yours, sir."

The Captain continued, "I'll take five hundred troops through the south gate, that leaves Mabrelle with five hundred soldiers to march through the north gate. The city is tight, no room for mounted combat, unfortunately. Radont, I want you to be in Mabrelle's group."

The young Imperial nodded, he wouldn't have it any other way.

"Arronax, your only objective is to find Halldin and, at the very least, keep him occupied while we clear the city. Can you do that?"

The wielder of Stradyn returned the captain's gaze, "I will not fail." He spoke slowly and deliberately, annunciating each word to drive the point home. It worked.

Barus nodded with newfound respect for the man in front of him. "Very well, we move out in three hours. I suggest you get some sleep."

The group disbanded and headed to the barracks, Radont walked past to the end of the hall, up a flight of stone stairs and out onto the star covered battlements. The Imperial looked over the edge and watched with disinterest a group of soldiers on patrol and another group trying to fix the destroyed gate. Radont always grew restless before a major battle and being out under the stars in the relative safety of the fort helped put his mind at ease. A door creaked open behind him, Radont didn't turn.

"You're not tired?" A smooth female voice asked.

Radont spun quickly. Sweet. Beautiful. Mabrelle.

The Breton crossed the battlements and stood close to Radont. The Imperial returned his gaze reluctantly to the activity below.

"Just trying to clear my mind, it's a pre-battle ritual." Then he added, "That armor suits you."

Mabrelle smiled. Perfect white teeth displayed proudly behind red lips. "It's been a long time since I've had the chance to battle, I wasn't sure it would even still fit," she said, looking down at her steel armor.

Radont resisted the urge to tell her just how well it fit. Instead he asked, "How did you come to lead the soldiers here? I thought Captain Sarus was in charge of Ebonheart."

"You can learn a lot in four lifetimes of men. When I wasn't feeding on victims I was reading the books they carried, most of the books happened to be about battle tactics. Plus, I can be very persuasive if I have to be and I…" She paused, Radont turned to look into her clear blue eyes, "I wanted to see you again."

Radont raised his eyebrows, "Me?"

Mabrelle moved closer, "Yes, Radont. Until you came along I was without hope, cursed to live alone feeding on the very citizens I swore to protect. After you left I vowed to find you, I would follow your trail until at last I caught up."

"And now that you've found me, what happens next?"

Mabrelle moved closer still and slipped her hands around the Imperials armored waist, "Now I don't let go."

Radont brushed a strand of hair from the Breton's face then gently placed his hands behind her neck. They leaned in, foreheads touched, then noses, and finally lips met in an electric embrace. For three intense seconds they forgot about the impending battle and became the only people in all of Tamriel. Mabrelle pulled her head back and wrapped her arms tightly around the ebony clad soldier.

"Be careful tonight," she whispered into his ear before letting go. Mabrelle turned and headed back into the fort. Radont's eyes followed her until she disappeared behind the wooden door. The feel of the kiss lingered on the Imperial's lips as he turned his attention back to the construction of the door without really looking at it. With his mind at ease, Radont went to the barracks and promptly fell asleep.

* * *

Three hours later the archers on the mountainside were ready. They sat behind rocky crags in the quiet night listening to skeletal feet click over the stone roads of Balmora. Renwick had led them in a wide circle around the city then over the rock filled landscape to their current position. The Wood Elf scanned the city confirming what he had seen earlier—a slaughter. Bodies of crushed victims lay scattered through the city like common trash. Skeletal patrols marched through the streets in pairs while the main body of soldiers waited in two large masses by the north and south gates. Renwick estimated the horde to be roughly two thousand strong, not enough to stand against the might of a vengeful Imperial force.

* * *

Radont stood next to Mabrelle just beyond the Northern wall of the city, behind them were five hundred soldiers clad in Imperial steel and armed with all manner of weapons. Their approach to the city was deliberately loud and defiant, they were here to rid the city of the undead scourge and didn't care who knew.

* * *

Captain Barus had done the same coming up to the south entrance. If the undead were frightened they didn't show it. They would be soon enough. More soldiers had arrived from outlying forts and now over a thousand troops dotted the landscape behind the captain like a sea of glinting stars in an inky sky. Barus began banging his steel sword on the shield strapped to his left arm. More soldiers joined and soon the silent night was alive with the intimidating sounds of steel on steel. 

The undead horde wasn't impressed—not until the arrows started flying. From the mountain west of the city a barrage of iron tipped bolts flew silently into the city. The archers aim was sure as arrows buried themselves into the craniums of hundreds of horde soldiers. Five minutes into the relentless barrage Barus barked out a command to Ferrick. The mage gestured to his band of spell casters. Six fireballs escaped the group of mages and screamed through the night towards the southern wall of Balmora. The impact was satisfyingly brilliant as massive chunks of rock crashed inward on the waiting undead.

* * *

Immediately after releasing the destructive fire the mages teleported to the north side of the city and dismantled the wall with similar results. Mabrelle gave the call to charge and a flood of steel poured into the city. They managed to run a third of the way in before meeting resistance, the horde had sprinted to the opposite wall to help contain the soldiers entering from the south. 

The undead army heard the pounding of steel encased boots on stone roads and turned to engage them. A helmless Radont reached the horde first, with superior speed he cleaved three heads from undead necks before the abominations had time to react. Their reactions were futile. The Imperial hacked, spun, slashed, dodged, and parried with vengeful ease. His enemies fell quickly and numerously at his ebony clad feet.

Mabrelle was equally effective at sending the undead to the afterlife. She swung a steel mace with the ferocity of a mother protecting a child and the accuracy of a skilled warrior. Any skeletal soldier unlucky enough to get near the blurring mace was summarily crushed under its heft. The Breton turned just as a sword clutched tightly in a bony hand was bearing down on her. With no time to raise her shield she would have to give the blow up to the steel armor. A hair's breath before the blade made contact an ebony blur filled the Breton's vision knocking the sword away. Radont. The Imperial soldier vengefully separated each limb from the undead body before crushing the skull under his boot. The Ghost turned to Mabrelle, winked, and sprinted to join another skirmish with all the enthusiasm of a boy running home with a new toy.

* * *

Arrow after deadly arrow sliced through the air and connected with undead soldiers. Renwick reached back for another arrow but grabbed air. His quiver was empty. The elf stole a glance along the mountainside; no arrows flew through the air. Everyone was empty. 

Renwick slipped the ebony bow onto his back and procured a steel dagger. The Legionary called out to his band of archers, "Into the city, it is time we helped our brothers carve the undead with steel!"

Two hundred soldiers donned in black cloth swept into the city like a rain cloud. The already confused undead panicked at the sight of more soldiers entering from yet another flank. The black clad archers dodged, flipped, and ducked acrobatically as clumsy zombies tried in vain to cleave the elusive targets.

* * *

Barus grew more confident with each swing of his sword. The initial volley of arrows and the subsequent collapsing of the wall had left the horde severely outnumbered by a better trained, better armored Imperial Legion. The captain effortlessly cut his way deeper into the city as his men pushed the undead toward Mabrelle's force. 

Nalik fearlessly followed Barus into the depths of undead crushing skulls with aplomb. In the heat of battle with enemies falling under the power of his mace it was easy to forget the real threat. Only a handful of undead remained when the image of golden armor invaded the archeologists mind like a piercing arrow. Halldin.

* * *

Radont saw him first, descending the mountain like a falling meteor the former Ghost landed with enough force to crack the roads and shake the foundations of houses. The Nord had always been big, but to Radont he now seemed like a god towering over his subjects. The golden armor shone with the brilliance of the sun; in his right hand he gripped an intimidating blood-red war hammer. The head of the hammer was flat on one side and came to a sharp gleaming point on the other. 

The Legonaries charged the solitary enemy from every angle. Halldin stood unmoving despite the trembling of the ground until the first soldiers were in range. With unearthly speed the Nord swung his powerful hammer in a wide arc. Seven soldiers died instantly from the impact, three more were thrown into the air only to come crashing down like steel boulders. The Legion didn't relent; wave after fruitless wave attacked the Nord with similar results. Finally they managed to push Halldin back against a tall building but they would go no farther. Barus ordered his army to form ranks and give the Nord a wide berth.

Radont had seen enough, he tightened his grip on the ebony katana and sprinted at the behemoth in the center of the city before Mabrelle had time to protest. Halldin saw the threat and swung horizontally. Radont rolled under the hammer and righted himself behind the Nord. _Too easy_, the Imperial thought. He stepped forward to thrust the blade through the golden armor but Halldin turned with blinding speed and struck the young soldier in his exposed side. Radont tumbled across the rocky ground and slammed into the side of a house with a sickening crunch.

Halldin was on the soldier instantly. He swung from overhead; Radont summoned enough strength to roll once as the flat side of the hammer cracked the stones inches from his head. The imperial lay on his back, ears ringing. Halldin flipped his weapon and swung again, this time impaling Radont through the abdomen with the point of the hammer. An anguished riddled scream burst from the crippled Ghost. The Nord laughed as he held his hammer high so all could see the soldier hanging from the end of it. Mabrelle gasped and covered her mouth as tears formed at the edge of her eyes.

"You see," Halldin bellowed, "not even your Ghosts can stand against the power of Ballgore!"

With a mighty swing Halldin launched Radont thirty feet into the air. The young soldier was conscious only of the wind blowing through his brown hair. The wind stopped but instead of hitting the ground the Imperial hung in mid air.

Arronax stood on the roof of a nearby house with his hand outstretched. He had caught Radont using telekinesis and gently eased him away from the Nord. Mabrelle was at the Imperial's side before he touched the ground. She tore the helm from her head and pulled Radont close as she looked frantically for Ferrick. There was no need for the mage; a soft word from the Channeler healed the soldier.

Arronax leapt from the roof and sprinted towards Halldin as soon as his feet touched the ground. The Nord sprinted with equal speed. The gold and ebony blurs slammed into each other with enough force to create a shockwave that tore through the city toppling buildings, crushing bridges, and sending any soldiers within forty feet tumbling backwards.

With unequalled speed the beast and the Imperial swung, blocked, and counterattacked in an ugly dance of death. No one dared help for fear of being crushed in the fury of battle. Arronax leapt back, telekinetically lifted a boulder and hurled it at his gold clad opponent. Halldin crushed the rock with a violent swing of his war hammer. The Nord used his own magic to grab Arronax and heave him towards a pile of jagged rubble. The Ghost stopped himself mid-air by using levitation. Another flurry of strikes and counterstrikes resulted in another stalemate.

Halldin swung wide; Arronax ducked and whispered a strength spell. With his free hand Arronax grasped the Nord's ankle, swung him into the air and slammed the armored menace onto the ground. Halldin moaned, Arronax didn't relent. The Imperial clasped an armored hand around Halldin's neck and flung him through the brick wall of an expensive house. Arronax darted through the opening to finish his opponent off but the spacious and lavishly decorated living room was empty. He heard the crack of wood above him and moved to ascend a flight of richly carpeted stairs. The Channeler was half way up when the entire house collapsed around him from the force of a magical blast. From under the pile of ruble he heard the Nord laughing.

"Fool, you never were much of a fighter."

Arronax struggled free of the debris but Halldin held him tightly in a telekinetic grip. The Nord grinned wickedly beneath the helm as he raised the hammer to crush the helpless Imperial.

Willing to risk the rage of a possessed Nord for his leader, Renwick ran up silently behind Halldin on soft elven feet. The nimble Legionary leapt onto the Nord's shoulders and tugged at the helm. The gold piece of armor came free as the Bosmer pushed off in time to jump over an angered swing from Halldin. It was enough of a distraction for the magical hold on Arronax to wane. Free of the binding spell, Arronax leapt at the distracted Nord and plunged Stradyn straight through his skull. Halldin clawed fruitlessly at the blade wedged at a downward angle as he roared in pain.

Finally his motions grew sluggish, like a drunk attempting to swat a fly. Halldin toppled forward. Arronax stared at the body of his best friend lying in a pool of blood at his ebony clad feet. Renwick stood solemnly by his leader and clasped his shoulder.

"You did what you had to Arronax."

Radont made his way to where Halldin lay, "That wasn't Halldin," the Imperial said looking at the body. He looked up, "Halldin died a week ago in that training building." He pointed to a pile of rubble.

Arronax nodded weakly, "You speak the truth. He did not die by my hand but by a power not of this realm. He was the last slave of Ballgore."

Nalik joined the group of soldiers carrying a thick, jagged plank of wood roughly four feet wide and seven feet long. The archeologist placed it gently next to Halldin's body and stepped back. He let the respectful silence linger before speaking.

"He deserves to be buried with his family. It would honor me, Arronax, if you would let me help bear him to his ancestral tomb."

Arronax faced the old archeologist with a deepening respect, "it is I who am honored by your offer, friend."

Arronax knelt down to retrieve Stradyn but the blade shimmered and disappeared. In its place was Halldin, no marks disfigured his face where the blade had been. _Thank you, Stradyn, _Arronax whispered as he closed Halldin's eyes.

With the help of Nalik and the other two Ghosts, Arronax managed to move Halldin onto the plank. The quartet of men lifted the Nord onto their shoulders and bore him through a parting sea of Legionaries. Helms were removed and heads bowed in respect as the procession made its way out of the city.

The entire Legion army waited outside as the four soldiers entered the tomb. They gently eased Halldin into the sarcophagi and sealed the stone lid. Renwick set the helm on the ground next to the chiseled casket.

Arronax put his hands on the cold stone and breathed deeply.

"Be at peace now my friend, rest forevermore."

A solitary tear slid down the Imperial's cheek as he and his companions exited.

"Ferrick, seal the tomb with your most powerful incantation, I don't want the power of that armor unleashed again."

The mage nodded solemnly and weaved his hands in the air. With a final commanding word the door to the tomb glowed with an ethereal blue hue.

Mabrelle joined the group and took Radont's hand in her own. She spoke compassionately to Arronax, "what will you do now?"

Her smooth voice helped sooth the Ghost's broken spirit. Arronax looked up; a sliver of a smile crossed his lips.

"Now I will rebuild Balmora, lead The Ghosts, and live."


End file.
